Screwing The Professor
by NNNNsic
Summary: The missing shaving scene. Written around premiere time. GSR


Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

Summary: The missing shaving scene. Written around premiere time. GSR

He was in there for a long time, beard trimmer humming, water running, bathroom drawers opening and closing, but Sara didn't think much of it. She was sprawled comfortably in bed reading a fascinating article about forensic animation.

The door opened, and she glanced up at Grissom as he walked by. Then she immediately did a double take.

"W-what the hell's that about?" she demanded comically, startling him.

He shrugged as he tossed a hand towel into their hamper. "I don't know. I felt like a change."

Sara stared for a long time, eventually frowning at him a little.

Grissom was perplexed, making his way toward the bed. Was she pouting?

"A change?" she managed, and he swore there was a whimper somewhere in there that amused him.

"I had no idea you harbored an attachment to my beard." He turned out the bedside lamp, casting the room in dark shadows, the dim nightlight from the bathroom the only source of light. He couldn't really see her as he crawled into bed.

Sara dropped her magazine on the nightstand. "I didn't…I just…"

She probably couldn't see it, but he cocked a brow at her.

"It was really nice," she admitted longingly, feeling stupid, disappointed and shocked all at once.

Grissom slid his arms around her. "It grows back," he promised, still rather amused.

Sara touched his face, intrigued and entranced by the soft skin she discovered. After a while, she realized she was grinning like a dork and sunk further into his embrace.

"This is nice, too."

"Liar," he grumbled.

"It is! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" She kissed his cheek. Twice, three times, then a fourth. All over, before moving to the other cheek. "What was I saying?"

"I have no idea." His mouth landed on hers.

"It's kind of like a whole new you," she purred.

"I'm the same me."

She slid against him and rolled her hips. "You're like the you I first met. The one I never got to screw."

Though her words sent a sexual charge to his ego, he didn't show it. "I'm the same me," he assured her, kissing her neck up to her ear.

Sara rolled her eyes. "This is one of those situations where it would be smart to just be quiet and allow me my fantasy."

"I'm sorry. You were saying? The one you never got to screw?"

The feel of his legs against hers, his hips gliding over her—that wandering hand—it was all working to stir things inside her. "Yeah..." She sighed when his fingers began that slow tug on her nightgown.

"Did you know I wanted you back then?" she whispered when her stomach was exposed.

"Not really." 

She never understood his obsession with her abdomen, but she never complained, either. It was different this time—those soft kisses on her skin didn't tickle quite as much. "Did you want me?" she pressed, reaching for and then linking her fingers through his.

"Maybe." He was busy biting along the edge of her panties. Why was she talking, anyway?

"Griss…"

Of course she expected more of an answer. She deserved one, really, after all these years. "I knew you were very sexy and very young," he began, slipping her underwear down, "But you kept distracting me with your intellect."

She reached out and started sliding his shorts down for him. "Yeah, that was my plan, to distract you for years with my brain, wearing you down until you gave in to my body."

"It worked." He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and they kissed for a long time.

"I can't tell you how weird it feels, kissing you without your beard."

"Why didn't you ever say anything? I wouldn't have shaved."

Sara melted a little at his tone. Sometimes Grissom could be unexpectedly sweet. "I didn't know how much I liked it until it was gone," she laughed, straddling him. Her hands cupped his face, stroking softly. "But this is stirring something in me, too," she went on wistfully, kissing along his jaw. "I think I missed this professor face."

"Do you need me to recite proper tape lifting procedures, Miss Sidle?"

She started to laugh, but then she said, "Don't call me that, it gives me the creeps."

"Yes, Miss Sidle," he teased.

"Gil—"

"All right, I'll stop." It always felt wrong when she called him Gil. Conversely, it made him feel younger when she called him Griss. Lots of people called him that, but it only worked with her, that casual way she said it—that lilt to her voice. With her, it always sounded like she was saying so much more.

"Don't stop," she whispered, and they didn't talk much after that.

When he stretched and rolled over seven hours later, Sara was staring at him.

"Hi," she offered.

"Hey." She slid her leg over his, and his arm instinctively pulled her closer.

"You going to keep shaving?"

He blinked a couple times and fought a yawn. "For a while." He looked away, thinking. "Is this some kind of deal breaker in our relationship?"

She smirked at him. It was rare to glimpse his insecurities. She just shook her head.

"No, you're stuck with me either way."

Grissom nodded and closed his eyes. Then he smiled a little. "Good."

THE END.


End file.
